Turn the Page
by keelhaulrose
Summary: Sirius had run from the wizarding world, leaving Hermione behind. After some time on the road he starts to realize what he's missing. But has she waited for him or moved on? Songfic based on Bob Seger's "Turn the Page"


**A/N: So my computer went down for the last time, taking my half-finished chapters with it. And I thought I had the juice to get them on a jump drive really quick, but the guy who was trying to fix it killed my battery. So the good news for me is I got a new computer. The bad news is that I need to get an external hard drive enclosure in order to access my stuff from my last computer. Which means it's going to be a bit of time before I can update those. But I did have this plot bunny, and the desire to write today, so I guess you get something. Oh, and major thanks to Maria Binger for getting me through my rough time without my own computer.**

**This whole plot bunny came from the song 'Turn the Page' by Bob Seger. It's a very loose interpretation, but it wouldn't leave me. **

**This is post DH, and very much AU (Sirius is alive and all that). Please leave a review if you leave.**

Normally the gentle swaying of the bus would eventually lull me to sleep. I was confined to this bus, and this little bed in it, for fifteen, sixteen hours at a time, my only company the same faces I've seen damn near every day for the last two years. We've exhausted our conversations about our past, I have admittedly held back much more than they, but now when we do talk it's all about the previous show, perhaps the latest backstage antics, and quite often the pretty young things we managed to seduce into going back to hotels, the bus, or even an unclean restroom with us despite the fact that any one of us were around twenty years her senior. No, we were celebrities, not the biggest in the world, but famous enough to earn us access to girls who were more concerned with how famous a person they could sleep with rather than who we really were as people. We were as much a conquest to them as they to us, something to go and brag about later. The sex was meaningless in the large picture.

And so sleep would prove elusive this night, as it had on occasion in my two years since I left England leaving a legacy and a rude gesture to the wizarding world. The war was won, and over for nearly a year, my innocence proven time and time again, and yet my name would always be synonymous with murderer, my surname nothing more than another in a famous line of Death Eaters. A year after the war was over Rita Skeeter, who had convinced her readers that a murdering prison escapee was indeed living in their midst, decided to out me as an Animagus. I was once again hauled in front of the Wizengamot, and it was only when Harry and Hermione came so vehemently to my aid that I was sentenced to a year, of which I could deduct from my twelve in Azkaban, and I walked out a free man determined to leave the wizarding world behind as soon as I could.

There was some good that came out of it- I realized how close to Hermione Granger I had become. There was no small sense of satisfaction in me when she retaliated by pointing out that Skeeter was nothing more than a hypocrite, and because she pointed out that I had been given a year for the offense of being an unregistered Animagus, she would settle for nothing less for the muckraking reporter. I was so pleased with the verdict, and the accompanying picture in the Prophet of a terrified looking Skeeter being dragged into Azkaban, that I decided I would repay Hermione with a dinner at the nicest place I could get us in at short notice. Over fondue and a bottle of wine she expressed her frustrations at the way I was being treated, and assured me that she would not rest until my contributions as well as, to my difficultly hidden displeasure, Snivellous' were recognized and given the proper respect. I confided in her my plans to move out of the country and start to live as a Muggle. She was surprised, but not so much so that she didn't offer words of encouragement and advice. She understood my desire to keep my plans from Harry, whom we both knew would be upset and do everything he could to discourage me. And it was her who asked me what I planned to do with myself. The question had taken me by surprise. For so long I had been barred from doing anything that I wasn't sure, now that I had freedom, what I wanted to do. I had assumed I would buy myself either a flat in a city where I could get lost in the crowd, or a small house in a place where I wasn't surrounded by people, and do nothing for a while.

"Won't you get bored after a while?" she asked as she poured another round of wine for the two of us.

"Boredom is relative," I shrugged in response. "It's quite a different thing to be bored and unable to do anything and to be bored and able to move freely."

"Certainly you have a hobby you can pursue? You seem to love your bike, perhaps you could open a shop and work on them?"

"That would require things like licensing, employees, schedules… stuff I have no desire to be responsible for."

"Sirius," she sighed with a smirk, sounding annoyed and amused at the same time. "Perhaps you should write a book about your experiences."

"Nobody wants to hear a description about Azkaban, love."

"There's much more to you than Azkaban."

"Not according to the Prophet."

"Anyone who thinks that load of tripe ever publishes the whole story should check themselves into the bed next to Lockhart's at St. Mungos," she grumbled.

I couldn't help but laugh at her expression, and it was in that moment I had realized that Hermione was no longer the determined thirteen year old who broke me out of the tower and out of Hogwarts. She was a beautiful, intelligent, mature 20 year old (well, 21 with her time-turner use) witch who hadn't let the horrors she had lived through during the war turn her bitter or close her off. Quite the opposite, she had learned in the experiences, and came out even more compassionate, patient, and driven. She was handicapped by her strengths, she intimidated most everyone around her, including the few men she had gone on dates with, but they didn't know the Hermione underneath and rarely bothered staying around long enough to find out. But I knew, and in that moment I found myself so enamored with the witch that I couldn't stop myself from leaning over the table, pulling her to me, and pressing my lips to hers.

The moment I realized what I was doing I thought she'd push me away and laugh at my presumption that anyone as damaged as I had a chance with her, but to my surprised she responded enthusiastically, parting with me only when our waiter had come with desert. The kiss was not mentioned between us for the rest of the meal, and we carried on with our conversation as though it did not happen, but as soon as we left the restaurant we were together again, and not long after that in my bedroom at Grimmauld Place. One night turned to two, then a week, and soon our affair was the best-kept secret in the former Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Since Harry was living with us we had to be careful, but there were times that a simple glance at each other was all that was needed for us to retire for the night and hope we took the time to remember the silencing spells.

Having such a witch on their arm would make any wizard happy, and one morning I found myself singing along with the wireless while preparing breakfast.

"Have you ever considered singing?" her voice called from the doorway of the kitchen, and I turned to see her standing in a well-worn pair of pajamas, hair still amiss and lips still swollen from an early-morning shag.

"Singing?" I chuckled. "Only when I wish to annoy Kreacher."

"I'm not joking. You have a lovely voice," she said, perching on the table near me.

"I never considered it, nor have I ever had reason to consider it," I said, spooning portions of food onto three plates.

"I think you should. You have talent."

I said that I would, then distracted her by snogging her until Harry came down and the conversation was officially cut off. I hadn't told her yet my plans on moving to America had drastically changed, now I planned on staying around and occupying myself with my young witch. And my plans would have stayed that way, had I not made a trip to Flourish and Blotts in search for a surprise present for my young paramour and was instead greeted with a display featuring Skeeter's revenge- a book that questioned my innocence that she somehow had managed to write and get published from Azkaban. I refused to buy it or anything else, and went home to stew to find Hermione with a copy, sent by the bug herself, madly flipping pages and cursing in a way I didn't think possible from her. She wanted to talk about it with me, but I refused, instead disappearing for a 'walk', and heading out to start the process of moving to Muggle New York City. I had managed to buy a flat and plan my date for leaving undetected, and decided to tell Hermione about my plans before I broke it to anyone else. She looked upset, but she said she understood my need to distance myself from the drama.

"I hope you find what you're looking for," she whispered before leaving me alone, refusing me for the first time since our night out.

"Hey, Black!" a voice called out and I was hit with a pillow. "Breakfast!"

"Right there," I muttered, climbing down from my bunk. I put on a jacket for the quick walk through the sleet into the diner. We were a sight as we entered, five middle-aged men dressed eccentrically, hair kept long, tattoos poking out on every exposed surface of skin. The town was small and surrounded by not much of anything, and so it was a good bet few here had ever heard of Padfoot and the New Marauders. We walked to a booth large enough we could all sit without being on top of each other, and tried our best to ignore the stares, but despite the sounds of an energetic kitchen we could still hear the mutterings. They were the same at every small town diner we ever stopped at. Questions about our gender were prominent, followed closely by our sexuality, and always a few jabs at our style of dress. I had become desensitized to it, but that didn't stop me from wanting to shout back during a particularly bad day.

I ordered food without being hungry, and let my thoughts drift back to what had gotten me here.

A week after I found the book I moved, despite Harry's objections and leaving a quiet Hermione in my wake. But I didn't have time to dwell on her, or anything else. I threw myself into my new Muggle lifestyle. I visited the hot spots of the city until I found places I was comfortable in, and soon got to know some of the regulars. I found a guitarist who was looking for someone to write and sing to some of his ideas, and soon we were playing in dingy coffee shops for a small performance fee. We quickly grew from two to five, and were soon filling bars with a small following of loyal fans, fans who would never know that the magical things I sung about were not metaphors. A lucky win in a local contest had us opening for a more well-known act, and after impressing some of the right people we were in the studio and on the road, trying to make a name for ourselves. Soon we found ourselves headlining, not at large stadiums, but the smaller regional venues kept us busy, and allowed us the lifestyle one would expect being so-called rock stars. The girls were there, as was the access to too much drink and illegal substances, and that held us over between run-down hotels or long trips trapped on a bus.

I got letters often from Harry. He had heard about my success and was following me. Three times we met up for lunch. Twice I had asked him about how his friends were doing, hoping for information about Hermione, and twice I got no more information than she was fine and enjoying her job. After the second one of these I started writing Hermione every time I wrote Harry a letter back, but Hermione didn't respond other than a polite greeting and generic response that didn't offer any new information about what she was doing. On the two Christmases I was gone I got cards, and two more on my birthday, but they were impersonal. At the third meeting I flat-out asked about Hermione, what was she doing, was she seeing anyone, saying I was worried after falling out of touch with her. Harry said she was acting happy, she had a flat of her own and maybe my correspondence was getting lost so he gave me her address, that she had earned a promotion and was seeing someone, but it wasn't serious yet and whoever it was they weren't announcing. I tried to find out if he had any idea who it might be, but he was just as clueless as I, and figured that she would announce it when she was ready.

The information disturbed me, and that night I tried to numb the pain by spending the night with two young women, but once they had left I was left awake, alone with my thoughts, which I had to drown out with drink.

I picked up a book from the slim selection at gas station next to the diner, nothing I really wanted to read, but enough that it would give me an excuse not to be social and an escape from thinking about any witch in particular. Before I was through with ten chapters we pulled up in front of that night's venue, which we would be playing the next two nights, and things were so busy that I didn't have time to think. A change, some pre-show publicity work, preparing, the show… it all blurred together in a rushed dance we had done so many times before. I always gave everything on the road, feeling love from adoring Muggles where I had only felt disdain from the Wizarding world. They gave me their energy, and I returned it, hoping no one left dissatisfied, not once worrying about what secrets I might be revealing. I was over that world, beyond it, and would sever all ties if it weren't for Harry… and Hermione.

"Hey, Sirius," my drummer called, arm around a busty blonde who looked like she had imbibed her fair share of a keg that had been standing in the corner.

"Yes?" I replied, desperately wishing to flee.

"Interested?" he said, nodding towards a beautiful redheaded woman with long legs who was waving at me.

"Not in the mood tonight, mate," I replied, and excused myself under the pretext of going to the bathroom. Instead I slipped out, and started walking through the city. I disguised myself as best I could and stopped by a few bars and late-night coffee shops, listening to bad bands and good amateur poetry. I had a few pick-me-up drinks that didn't work, and a few keep-me-up coffees that did. When the bars started closing I changed into Padfoot, wandering on four legs until I found a small park where I could sit on the bank of a small stream and try to lose my thoughts. But they would not go away. And they always led to the same thoughts of the witch I left behind. I was haunted by the thoughts, and deep down I knew there was only one way to deal with them. I turned back into Sirius, created a Portkey out of an old bottle, and soon landed outside of Hermione's flat.

It took a minute of knocking, but when the door opened it wasn't the bushy brunette I was expecting. Instead it was Ginny Potter, who greeted me enthusiastically and invited me in seemingly without asking the owner of the flat. I rounded a corner into the living area, and Hermione was standing in the middle of the room, looking beyond divine in a modest yet form-fitting blue dress that was in the process of being pinned up. Her eyes betrayed her shock at seeing me, but she managed a polite greeting. She then excused herself, Ginny following her, to change into more everyday clothes, and Ginny soon excused herself so she could mend the dress, promising she'd be back in a couple hours. Hermione summoned some tea and sat as far away from me on the couch as possible.

"You look great," I smiled at her, hoping I looked more charming rather than like I had been up most of the night drinking and still smelling of the sweat I was covered in from the show.

"Thank you," she murmured, averting her eyes from me.

"How have you been?" I asked.

"Well," she replied simply. "You?"

"Pretty well. The band…"

"I've been following the band," she said in a near whisper. "Congratulations on your success."

"Thank you," I said, sounding confused. We sat in silence for a while before I decided to start again. "I missed you, Hermione."

She swallowed hard and placed her shaking cup down.

"I shouldn't have run from you," I continued. "I should have run with you. I should have offered to sweep you off your feet and to the big city to get lost with me. I made a mistake, love, and I'm sorry."

She was silent for a couple uncomfortable minutes before saying, "I've been following you closely, Sirius. I see pictures all the time. I see the pictures of you on stage. I see the pictures of you drinking. I see the pictures of," her voice cracked slightly, as if she were holding back a sob. "Of the women. A lot of women, Sirius. More than I care to think of."

"Meaningless," I muttered.

"Are they now? I'm supposed to not think of each of their faces when I think of you? I'm not supposed to feel cheapened by seeing how willingly you give yourself to a woman?"

"They are nothing compared to you," I protested. "Nothing more than a pathetic substitute."

"And yet they're so much more than that," she shot back.

"I'm done with them. I swear," I promised sincerely, but was spared from more promises when I heard the door open. Hermione stood as though she had no desire to be caught on the couch with me, and moved towards the entrance.

"I missed you," I heard a male voice murmur, and the sounds of a passionate embrace.

"We have company," Hermione protested.

"Really? Who?" the voice said, and I turned as they entered the room without waiting for a response. Standing with his arm around Hermione, drawing her close to him in an intimate and yet possessive gesture was George Weasley, whose face broke out in a grin from ear to ear-hole when he saw it was me. As much as I liked George I couldn't be happy to see him, because I realized what was going on. Hermione had moved on. She had gone from one of the original Marauders to one of the twins who had taken our pranking to the next level. This must have been why she was so obviously disappointed to see me. My stomach was settling in my shoes.

"Sirius!" he let go of Hermione to bound forward and shake my hand. "You made it! I didn't think you would with your schedule."

"Made it?" I asked in surprise, unsuccessfully trying to hide my confusion.

"Today is our engagement party. Didn't you receive the invitation? I sent one to you."

Hermione suddenly looked guilty. "Sweetheart, Harry was having some problems with the restaurant. He doesn't think they were setting things up right. Do you mind running over there and making sure everything is set up properly?"

"Anything for you, love," he smiled, leaning in and kissing her. "Hope to see you there, Sirius," he added before Apparating away.

"Not bloody likely," I grumbled, staring at Hermione. "George Weasley?" I finally asked her.

"He's a great man."

"Better than me?"

"He's here for me!" she snapped.

"I came back for you."

"Did you really expect me to wait two years for you?"

"I didn't expect you to be engaged in two years."

"When you find your match…" she started before trailing off.

"I thought we were a pretty good match," I whispered, reaching out for her, but she ducked out of the way.

"We were, when we were a match. But then you had one day and you left. No warning, no talking about it, just leaving. That hurt, more than you probably realize. I felt used, I felt like I didn't matter to you, and I had no expectations of you ever coming back. I spent a couple months hoping, looking up every time that door opened, then realized that there was no hope. So I moved on, went on a few dates here and there, nothing that panned out until George."

"He's a substitute for me," I replied. I was trying to sound confident, but I knew it came across as arrogant by the look that crossed her face.

"There's a reason I destroyed your invitation!" she hissed. "Because I knew you wouldn't accept that I had moved on, knew you wouldn't be able to accept me with anyone else. I wanted to avoid this conversation. I was done waiting for you to grow up. George might be a lot like you, but he's ready to settle down and start a family. I want you to leave now, Sirius."

I studied her face, but her eyes were stone.

"You love him?" I whispered.

"Do you think I'd be marrying him if I didn't?" she replied in a voice just above a whisper.

I stared at her, realizing in that moment that I had known all along what I wanted, and the next moment knowing it had taken me too long to come to that realization.

"Goodbye, Sirius," she whispered, turning and disappearing into her room, closing the door behind her, and I heard a few clicks as she warded it against me, probably putting up a few spells to keep me from hearing as well. I looked around one last time, then Disapparated, landing outside the Leaky Cauldron. I knew I should be getting back to the States, I had a morning radio interview I was supposed to be at, but I was in no mood to go back. There was a bench across the street, and I took a seat and just stared at the Leaky Cauldron. I had run from the Wizarding world, and it cost me everything. I made a name for myself in the Muggle world, but it was based on falsehoods. So now I faced a choice. Continue the path I chose, or return to the world I had known so well.

I was still sitting on that bench as the sun went down. By now I had missed my show. If I went back I was in for a hell of a fight. If I stayed I was in for the usual speculation and distrust. But it was getting late, and I was ready to move. Standing up I stretched, and after making sure the coast was clear, transformed back into Padfoot and started trotting towards Grimmauld Place.


End file.
